


Discretion

by MayaTheGreatish



Category: Glee
Genre: Bullying, Friendship, M/M, Singing, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaTheGreatish/pseuds/MayaTheGreatish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Schuester is sick to death of the Glee club baring all their secrets and ripping apart each other's relationships in song. Kurt decides to use the anonymity of his assignment to reach out to the one person he feels needs him. Spoilers through Never Been Kissed, then we throw canon out completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> I already posted most of this on ff, but I heard this place was better since it has, you know, tags (I've wandered into too many fics with kinks I do not have and was not expecting ok). Anyway, this should get updated regularly, unless it... y'know... doesn't.

"Discretion." That was the word Will Schuester wrote and underlined on the whiteboard, complete with the most decisive period ever, before turning to face the New Directions with his hands on his hips and his foot tapping irritably, like they'd left the toilet seat up one too many times. "Anyone in here know what that means?" he asked through annoyance-thinned lips.

His students looked at each other. "No," Brittany answered in that soft, honest way of hers, prompting Santana to pat her knee comfortingly. Rachel snorted, launching her hand primly into the air.

"It means," Schue went on, Rachel's hand falling with a pout, "not airing your every piece of dirty laundry for all the world to see." All he received was blank looks. "You all seem to have a habit of sing-speaking to each other in your performances." He stared at Rachel, and she scowled self-righteously back. "You're all very explicit about your feelings for each other, and that's fine for a private setting, but not a public place in and in front of a group as explosively volatile as this."

"But, Mr. Schue," Mercedes cut in, "we're just expressing through music what we can't bring ourselves to in words."

The teacher smiled indulgently at her. "I know, and I'm thrilled that you all feel safe and open enough here and with each other to do that, but it keeps causing problems. A relationship will be damaged, or a secret spilled, and you'll refuse to work together for a time. And that is time we don't have."

"Pot, kettle, Mr. Schue," Santana said, not looking up from her nails.

"Yes, I know," he agreed tiredly, "and look where it got me." The room got quiet, and he went on. "Look, the point is you all lack discretion, and it rips you apart on a weekly basis. Your assignment is to choose a song—nothing explicit, mind you, keep it PG-13—and dedicate it to someone, anyone, in your head. Don't tell anyone, and please don't stare at anyone during your performance."

"Sing to anyone?" Kurt asked softly. "No one has to know who?"

From the back of the room, Puck snorted. "Come off it, Princess; we all know you're singing to Finn." Finn had the grace to look embarrassed, if slightly gassy.

"No, actually," Kurt said. "Finn doesn't need the song I'm singing." Everyone looked at him, but he was too busy staring pensively at his expensive shoes to notice.

As we all know, Puck was a badass. He had the 'hawk, the leather jacket, and the guns to prove it. It was rarely unsatisfying when the crowds parted for him, their fear and admiration seeping into his skin, fueling him, but apparently today was one of those days. As the after-school herd made way for him, his head was too full of Hummel's sad face to notice the fairy had seemed off for a few days, and even Aretha didn't seem to know why.

 

A loud clang jerked him from his thoughts, lifting his head so he could see that the crowds had mostly dispersed and escaped homeward. Ahead of him, in the empty space, Karofsky had Hummel against the lockers by the front of his no-doubt-designer shirt. Contrary to his usual "I'm-clearly-better-than-you" attitude that he amped up in the face of adversity, Hummel just looked sad and resigned, pitying even. Puck drew nearer, not even sure what he was going to do when he reached them. Rescue Hummel, he supposed, but he'd never done that before. He wasn't really the hero type; that was Finn's job.

"You need to stop rubbing your fagginess in everyone's face, homo," Karofsky was snarling.

Hummel's eyes fell tiredly closed. "You're such a coward, David." Puck only just caught the murmur.

Karofsky's eyes widened. Was that fear in there? It was, Puck knew fear anywhere, but why? "And when the hell did I say you could call me that?" Karofsky demanded furiously.

Hummel met his eyes, something unreadable in his own and in the set of his jaw. "When do you think?" Karofsky's eyes went even wider with definite and obvious fear. His fist left Hummel's shirt to draw back for a punch and Hummel just kept staring into his eyes, into his soul.

With no choice but to step in, Puck took the remaining half-step forward and wrapped his hand harshly around Karofsky's fist. When the bully looked at him, the fear was still there, but it was different, diminished, as if he were less afraid of a badass like Puck than a shrimp of a fairy like Hummel. Well, that made no sense. "There a problem?" Puck clearly indicated with his tone that the answer would be "no," or else.

Karofsky wrenched away from both of them, his motions as violent as ever. "Whatever! Just 'cause you're both faggy for each other, you think you're fucking safe?" Hummel just closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, as if deeply disappointed. "Fuck you!" Karofsky cried. With that, he kicked a dent into an innocent locker and all but ran away.

Hummel sagged against the lockers, a massive sigh passing his lips. Puck stuck his hands deep into his pockets and watched him, waiting. At length, Hummel said quietly, like he was out of breath, "I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"Yeah."

Hummel sighed again. "Well, I'm sorry, but you can't have one." He pushed himself off the unforgiving metal and straightened his clothes and hair.

"Why didn't you fight?" Puck demanded gently. "You always fight, at least with words."

Gazing down at the dirty hallway floor, Hummel adjusted the strap of his messenger bag across his chest. "I have my reasons."

"Yeah? What're they?"

Hummel met his eyes for the first time then. They were the strangest color: dark, and couldn't seem to decide whether they were blue or green. "Thanks for your help just now," he said, the barest touch of ice in his voice, "and for your concern, but I'd like to know the motivation for both."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "Nice thank-you."

"You know what I mean."

Digging his hands deeper into his pockets, Puck leaned closer to the other boy. "Can't I show concern for a fellow gleek?"

Hummel scowled faintly at him. "You haven't before. Even since you joined Glee, we've never been close; we're civil at best. And before that you were the opposite of civil. So you'll have to forgive my suspicion."

With an exasperated eye-roll, Puck said, "Look, you've been acting weird, all quiet and shifty, and everyone's worried. And after seeing you and Karofsky, I'm pretty damn curious myself."

A guarded, disgusted look crossed Hummel's face. "Curiosity, huh."

Puck elected to ignore that strange reaction. "And now I see it has something to do with that dick Karofsky."

Hummel sighed. "Why do you care, Puckerman?" he asked tiredly.

Why, indeed. Puck thought as carefully and quickly as he could manage. "I got slushied. I get called 'homo,' too." At Hummel's startled look, he exhaled and tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, you're not alone in getting harassed. And I kinda know how it feels now. So, since we're teammates, I don't want you feeling that."

Hummel gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter, his eyes not leaving Puck's, before he spun on his heel and headed for the exit. The motion had a strange lack of finality or dismissal, and Puck found himself following the shorter boy, easily catching up on his longer legs to walk alongside him.

Hummel stared straight ahead as they walked, only acknowledging Puck's presence by keeping pace with him. Puck allowed the silence to follow them through the empty hallways to the door. The overhang dripped steadily in the heavy rain, and Hummel stopped and considered the bleakness, Puck beside him with his hands still buried in his pockets. Still not looking at him, Hummel asked quietly, "Do you need a ride?"


	2. "Worth Your While"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See, when I say "regularly," what I mean is... I don't know what I mean.

Hummel asked quietly, "Do you need a ride?"

Puck looked at him. "Yeah. You offering?"

Hummel dug around in his bag and produced an umbrella. "Only as a thank-you, since my previous attempt was sub-par."

"Whatever you want." As the taller of the two, Puck took the umbrella and held it over both of their heads, leading them out into the cloud-dark parking lot. The tension in Hummel's posture couldn't be more obvious; his every step was all but on tiptoe, his grip on the strap of his bag turned his knuckles white, his wide eyes shifted constantly. A faint smirk on his face, Puck walked him to the driver's side of that fancy Navigator, then hopped into the passenger seat himself.

Elbows locked, Hummel gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead of him. "You'll have to give me directions," he said, starting up.

"Cool. Head towards Heights Adjacent."

Hummel just nodded and took a left. They rode in silence for awhile, Puck staring at the other boy's tense profile. Finally, Hummel caved and sighed, "I really can't tell you about Karofsky."

So he's talking. "Why not?"

"It's not my problem to spill."

"Sure as hell looked like your problem in the hallway."

Hummel set his jaw, his voice resigned and determined at the same time. "It only bleeds over. I really can't tell you; it's his secret, and it's not my place to share it."

Puck nodded slowly. "I can respect that, but seeing how he literally just treated you, I don't think you're obligated to keep his secrets."

"This one, I am."

"Is it that big of a deal, or are you just that damn nice?"

A grim smile stretched Hummel's lips. "The first one."

"Can you tell me anything?"

Hummel looked at him now, his eyes guarded and uncomfortable. "Why are you so concerned about me, Puckerman? It's nice, I suppose, but… sudden." His gaze returned to the road.

"Because." Even as he said it, Puck knew that wouldn't cut it, he didn't need Hummel's eye-roll to tell him that. "Because I'm tired of—of being a dick. It takes effort, man, and it cost me Quinn and Beth." He was surprising himself with his own honesty.

They were about halfway to Puck's house, but Hummel pulled over on the empty, wet road, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. "I see," he said quietly, and Puck had the unsettling feeling that he did see. This… talk, or whatever, seemed to be getting to him, so on he ploughed, going with this honesty thing that seemed to be working so well.

"And now that I know what it feels like form the receiving end, not only do I not want to be that guy giving shit, but I don't want anyone else getting it either, especially not one of my teammates." At this point, he was just saying whatever non-offensive thing pooped into his head and prayed for coherence.

Hummel was biting his lower lip now, his knuckles white again. "Why today?"

Puck shrugged; he knew the answer to that one. "I saw him attacking you. Couldn't just sit on my ass, let it happen right in front of me."

Hummel released the wheel and leaned back into his seat, dropping his hands to his sides. "Is that right."

"You were weird about the assignment today, too," Puck went on. "Couldn't get your tone out of my head, you sounded so wrong." Hummel bit his lip again. "You've been off for days, to the point that even I noticed. Karofsky after the way you were in Glee today was the boiling point, I guess."

Hummel sighed and turned to face him. It took effort for Puck not to flinch at the inexplicably intense eye contact. "Do you want this to be a regular thing?" Hummel asked. "You playing knight-in-shining-armor? Because it'll be short-lived."

Puck blinked. "Why?"

Hummel's lips thinned, and he faced forward, disengaging the parking brake and resituating for driving. "A few reasons."

"Yeah? What're they?"

He just pulled away from the side of the road. "Don't worry about it," he murmured.

Puck frowned at him, but he didn't push further. Under Puck's guidance, they soon pulled up to the Puckerman house. Silent, Hummel put his baby into park and waited. In the quiet, Puck had been scheming, and it was time to put his plan into action. "Hummel." The boy didn't react, but somehow Puck knew he was listening. "Pick me up for school tomorrow."

That got his attention. Hummel turned 90 degrees in his seat to stare at Puck, his big, weirdly-colored eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"My truck's in the shop, and I hate the bus."

Hummel flapped his hand in a way that was probably meant to be dismissive, but turned out confused. "I fail to see how that is my problem."

"C'mon, Hummel; I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Hummel's brows shot up doubtfully. "Really."

Puck sighed at him. "Hummel, if you don't agree, I will turn on the charm."

The other boy looked positively aghast now. "You would not."

With a devilish grin, Puck leaned toward him. "Trust me, you'll only be upset after."

"After…?" Hummel shook his head quickly, as if to rid himself of the thought, before casting Puck a withering glare. "Fine, Puckerman, if only to avoid your attempt at seducing me." He wrinkled his upturned little nose. "That's rather high on my 'ew' list."

Puck snorted and opened the passenger door. "Please. Puckzilla is on nobody's 'ew' list." With that, he bolted into the rain to his door, wondering how true that assertion was.


	3. The Plan

Kurt chewed anxiously at his lip as he pulled up to the Puckerman house the next morning. The punk had been so weird yesterday, he couldn't even begin. Saving him, talking to him, following him around; all weird. He shook his head. Whatever, Puck's weirdness was none of his business. One more ride, then he was home-free.

He took out his phone. He had Puck's number—all the gleeks had each other's numbers—but he had to go hunting for it in his contacts, as he and Puck hardly spent hours a day gabbing on the phone. When, at length, he found the number, he shot off a text to alert the weirdo of his presence, then started prepping for his project.

Puck climbed out of his shower to his phone buzzing on the sink with a new message. It was from Hummel: I'm outside. If you're not out in 10, I'm leaving.

"Shit," Puck muttered. Damn Hummel and his perfect grammar; it would help absolutely no one if Hummel managed to escape before he could enact his master plan. He made the quickest work he could of drying himself off, throwing on clean-enough jeans and a fresh t-shirt. Choosing his leather jacket over his letterman, he shoved his phone into his pocket and scampered down the stairs.

His mother watched him race past from the kitchen, snatching up his bag as he went, with tired eyes. "What's your rush, Noah?"

He slowed to answer, but didn't stop. "My ride's waiting."

Ruth's eyebrows rose, and she lifted her mug to her lips. "That better not be a double-entendre."

"I don't know what that means!" he all but sing-songed over his shoulder, wrenching the door open and barreling through. His mother rolled her eyes, but he didn't see through the shut door.

Puck jogged down the walk, Hummel's shiny black Navigator waiting at the end of it. As he drew nearer, he saw that Hummel had earbuds in his ears, his lips moving in song. Puck slowed to listen; Hummel was singing softly, but Puck could hear through the car door:

_"Scars make us who we are._

_"Hearts and homes are broken, broken—"_

Hummel broke off with an irritated noise. "No, no," he muttered. "Still too damn high." He started scrolling through his iPod, his brow furrowed. Puck tapped on the window, and Hummel jumped a mile. He blinked at Puck for a few seconds, then popped the locks and in he hopped.

"Heard you singing," Puck commented.

"You've heard me singing before," Hummel retorted, removing his earbuds and pulling away from the curb. "Nothing new."

"New song. 'S it for Glee?"

"Nope." Hummel volunteered no further information.

Fine; I push, you pull. "What's it for?"

"Personal project."

Puck cocked a suggestive eyebrow. "You serenading somebody?"

Hummel sorted, giving Puck all the answer he needed. "Who would I possibly? And even if I were, I wouldn't tell you."

"Not even Finn?" Puck mock-gasped.

A short, true laugh escaped Hummel, making Puck grin. "Ew, no!"

"You suuuuure?"

"Yes!" Hummel reached over and swatted him on the arm, like they were friends—the boy didn't even seem to realize he'd done it—and Puck found he didn't mind. "That was a textbook, schoolgirl crush on the quarterback; it doesn't even bear mention."

"You liked him 'cause he was the quarterback?"

"Don't put words in my mouth." His tone remained genuinely light. "I liked him because, despite being the cute, popular quarterback, he was goofy and nice to me."

"He's an idiot."

"I knew that, but I thought it was cute at the time. Like a lost puppy."

Puck crossed his arms and leaned back petulantly into his seat. "A really dumb puppy that shits on everything and rips up the furniture."

Hummel laughed, and this time he didn't even seem to fight it. "Well-put, Puckerman." Puck smirked. "But I woke up and saw the mess, so Finn's exclusively my brother now." He blinked, as if surprised, before throwing Puck a sheepish glance. "Not that it's your business."

Puck laughed at the belated salvage attempt. "Bit late for that, but fine. Subject change."

"Yes, good." Hummel relaxed, slightly but noticeably.

"How I'm making this ride worth your while."

A skeptical smirk curved Hummel's lips. "Do tell."

"I'm gonna get the bullies off your ass."

Hummel's face slackened in surprise as he tried to pick one of the many questions that had surely popped into his head. "Why on earth would you do that?" he finally asked.

Puck shrugged, like it was no big deal. "It bugged me yesterday, not only seeing you getting harassed right in front of me, but how much it bothers you, even though you try to hide it."

Hummel was staring extra-hard at the road, his knuckles white again. A hint of color rose from beneath the collar of his shirt, up his neck to his face and ears. "Why would any of that bother you?"

Another shrug from Puck. "Dunno, but it does, and I hate being bothered. So, I'll put a stop to it."

"You're so selfish." There was a faint smile on Hummel's face, though, so Puck elected not to get offended. "I don't think you'll be able to stop it though."

Puck furrowed his brow and sat up, now getting offended. "What do you mean, I can't?"

Hummel sighed, turning into the school parking lot. "You won't be able to stop all of them, at least. Some of them have… different reasons for… what they do."

"And those are?"

"No one's business, is what they are, not even mine."

Puck was quiet while the other boy parked. He just sat and stared until Hummel pulled the key from the ignition. "Let me try, then," he finally said.

On an exhausted sigh, Hummel's eyes fell closed, then reopened to lock with Puck's. Puck felt the inexplicable urge to hold his breath as Hummel searched his gaze (for what, he didn't know), and he wondered why he needed Hummel to accept his help so badly.

At length, Hummel released him from his stare, and Puck exhaled. "Fine," Hummel said resignedly. "What do you have in mind?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used: Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert. I own neither the song nor the man, and I cry every day over the latter.


End file.
